My friendship with Mireille deepened after she told me about her adventures. We would often go for long walks in the Pyrenees when the weather was fine. It was late spring, before the heat of summer had set in, and the weather was perfect for walking. I was never very good at climbing, but Mireille always helped me. She was a natural climber. And when we were out for our walks, I discovered that she could paint very well. She often carried a sketchpad and charcoal sticks with her, and when we returned to Montglane, she painted beautiful landscapes of the Pyrenees based on her sketches.

"How did you learn to paint so well?" I asked.

"From Jacques-Louis David," she replied. Of course! I felt stupid. She had been the ward of the greatest painter in France, after all. But it was interesting that she had the talent for painting, even though she wasn't a blood relative of his.

"Could Valentine paint?"

She shook her head. "Perhaps she could, but she was too lazy to learn. I loved her more than anything in the world, but I'm not blind to her faults, after all. No, she never cared much about learning. She always wanted romance and excitement. But if she'd had the inclination, she probably could have learned. She was the one who was David's niece, after all." Her eyes filled with tears.

I put an arm around her. "Mireille, I'm so sorry. I know it hurts to talk about her."

"No, it helps. I like to talk about her with you. After all, you lost your family, too."

On the days when it was too rainy to walk in the Pyrenees, we spent time in the library of Montglane, where I discovered yet another of Mireille's talents: she knew several languages. I asked her how many she knew, and she said, "Well, besides French, of course, I know English, Latin, Arabic, Kabyle, and Occitan, and I'm beginning to learn Russian, because, as I've told you, I will probably have to go to Russia soon to rescue the Abbess."

"That's amazing! I only know a little English and Latin, besides French. How did you learn all that? I assume Shahin taught you Arabic."

"Yes, and Kabyle, the language of his people."

"What about Occitan? I assume you spoke it when your parents were still alive?"

"Yes, we lived not far from here, and, as you know, most of the people around here speak Occitan as their first language and they only learn French later. It was the same with me. Mireille is an Occitan name, after all."

I nodded. I had never heard it before, until I met her.

"Do you remember your parents very well?"

"Not really. I was only seven when they died. Sara, I know it's horrible you lost your parents the way you did, but at least you remember them. I wish I could. All I can remember is that they loved me very much. And I think they knew about the Game. That's why they sent me to Montglane, so the Abbess could protect me. The Abbess encouraged me to continue speaking Occitan after my parents died, so I wouldn't forget it. Would you like to learn it?"

"Yes, but I'd like to learn Arabic even more."

"Then I'll teach you. We can begin today."

And so Mireille started teaching me Arabic, but I soon discovered I was not nearly as good at languages as Mireille. She had learned Arabic in four months, but I knew it was going to take me much longer. I was glad she was patient with me.

It was around this time that I first learned Mireille had a secret: something she hadn't told me in the long tale of her adventures. I first became aware of it one night when I was lying in my bed in the novices' dormitory, unable to sleep because I kept thinking of what happened to my family during the Terror. Even though I wasn't a novice, I had a bed in their dormitory because there was nowhere else for me to sleep. Mireille slept there, too, but that night she was sound asleep. I heard the three youngest novices, Therese, Angelique, and Ursuline, whispering among themselves, no doubt thinking I was asleep. "Does Sara know Mireille's secret?" asked Therese.

"Probably. They're always talking together," said Angelique.

"I don't know," said Ursuline. "Mireille doesn't like to talk about it, even to us, and we've known all along."

"But Sara seems to be her special confidante," said Angelique. "And would it even matter? We never minded, so why should she?"

"You're right," said Therese. "Either she knows and doesn't care, or she doesn't know, and if she ever found out, I'm sure it wouldn't change Sara's opinion of her."

"It's none of our business, anyway," said Angelique. And they said nothing more of it.

They raised my curiosity, though. I couldn't think of anything Mireille could be hiding except the fact that she read romances. I saw her reading a copy of a popular romance novel called Paul et Virginie one night when she thought I wasn't looking. She quickly put it away when she saw me come into the dormitory, probably thinking it would lessen my opinion of her if I knew she was reading something other than the serious books she read in the library. I don't think she knew I'd seen the cover before she put the book away. It was certainly nothing to be ashamed of, though. I had read, and enjoyed, the same book. So had more than half the novices, I suspected. But this secret they spoke of sounded like something that might make me think less of Mireille if I knew about it.

But I admit I didn't set too much store in their comments at the time. If Mireille had something she wasn't telling me, I decided, she must have her reasons. I didn't think about it again until some time later.

I noticed that Mireille seemed very sad at times, but I thought it was because of Valentine. I wondered at first if it was possible that Mireille loved Valentine in the way that women did, who loved other women. I had seen plenty of that kind of thing in Paris, and I even knew it to be true of some of the nuns and novices at Montglane. But no, that couldn't be, I decided. Valentine had been like a sister to Mireille, not a lover. And everything I knew about Mireille told me she was attracted to men, not women. She and Valentine had both been in love with Talleyrand, and Mireille had had a child by him, after all. No, Mireille was just very upset over the death of the girl she had loved like a sister, I thought.

Then one day, in the middle of an Arabic lesson, she broke down and cried when she was teaching me the word for "to kill."

"What's the matter, Mireille?" I asked.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, her voice breaking up. "I can't go on today."

"It's Valentine, isn't it? You're thinking about when she was murdered."

"No, not Valentine."

"What then?" I asked. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

She took a deep breath. "Sara, there's something I haven't told you."

"A secret?"

She nodded.

"The only secret I know of is that you read Paul et Virginie at night." I smiled, trying to lighten the mood, even though I knew her secret must be far graver than that.

"Not much of a secret, is it?" She wiped her eyes with a handkerchief.

"Nothing to be ashamed of. I've read it, too, and I'm sure a lot of the novices have. Back in Paris I read Les Liaisons Dangereuses. Now there's something the nuns would be really angry about, if they saw us reading it!"

Mireille attempted a smile beneath her tears. "That's a book I haven't gotten around to reading, even though Germaine de Stael told me how she loved it."

"You knew Madame de Stael?"

"Of course. Didn't I tell you she was the one who took Valentine and me to the opera? We used to go out together all the time." She took another deep breath. "No, I think I should tell you now. It's something that happened to me when I came back to France after I was in Algeria. You noticed I didn't tell you much about that time."

"You only said you hadn't stayed very long. Something happened to you then?"

She nodded. "Something horrible."

"Worse than seeing Valentine murdered?"

"Yes."

"But what could possibly be worse than that?"

She took another deep breath. "I will tell you. But I'm afraid you'll hate me." Then, shaking her head, she added, "Or perhaps not. Something you said when I was telling you about my adventures led me to hope that you might not. Otherwise, I wouldn't say anything."

"How could I possibly hate you?" I was starting to be frightened now, wondering what could ever make me hate Mireille. Even if she had loved Valentine like a lover, not a sister, I wouldn't hate her. But this was obviously something that happened after Valentine was killed. "Mireille, I could never hate you," I told her.

"You might change your mind once you know what it is. I hope you don't, but you might."

"Well, what is it?"

But at that moment I heard someone come into the library, and I saw Therese, Angelique, and Ursuline.

"There you are!" said Therese when she saw us.

"I should have guessed you'd be in the library," said Angelique.

"You're late for dinner. If you don't hurry, Sister Agathe will call you into her study and give you a demerit," said Ursuline. Sister Agathe was the most senior of the nuns of Montglane, and she was in charge of the abbey while the Abbess was away. We all knew Sister Agathe was very strict with her punishments.

After dinner, Mireille didn't seem upset any more, and I almost forgot she was about to tell me some horrifying secret. I noticed, though, that she seemed relieved not to have to tell me. I didn't ask her about it again. I figured that when she was ready to tell me, she would, and I didn't want to upset her unnecessarily.